Prestigious Internship Available

I need this gal, immediately

Today my friend Mick sends me an email, asking for my blintz casserole recipe, something I've apparently bragged about, but who can remember?  I tell him no problem, let me find it and I'll get back to you soon.  Translation:  after I comb through drawers and cabinets and weird hiding places.  It's my mother's recipe, written on old stationery in her beloved scrawl.  You'd think I would've framed it, or at least put it in a safe place.  But that would be too easy.  The recipe could be anywhere:  Stuck inside a cookbook.  Stuck between other recipes.  Stuck to the bottom of a drawer.  If only I could remember it by heart, like they do on "Top Chef."  I've made it 832 times.  I'm sure I could round it off to the nearest blintz:
"Take some frozen blintzes, more than 10, less than 20, mix up some eggs and some sour cream."   But it's important to differentiate between teaspoons and tablespoons, quarter cups and half cups, and actual ingredients, when cooking, or people will talk about you behind your back when they leave.  "Too bad about Carol's blintz casserole.  Was that paprika I tasted?"  No, we can't have that.  So I search.  I look here, there and everywhere.  Mid-way through my half-baked investigation, I realize exactly what I need.  I need an intern to help me organize my life!  I can see the posting on craigslist now: 

"Prestigious internship available.  College credit only.  Location:  Sherman Oaks.  TV writer, in-between assignments for quite a while now (exact number of years too depressing to calculate), daily blogger, full-time kvetcher, needs smarty-pants-type to de-clutter her messy existence, plus locate important stuff she'd like to see again, before her vision goes.  Missing kitchen items: lids that match containers, recipes scribbled on index cards, the only oven mitt her dog hasn't destroyed.  Missing office items:  brilliant, money-making ideas, her prized, left-handed scissors from 7th grade homemaking class, where she earned the first of several U's for dancing the Funky Chicken when she thought Mrs. Katiyama wasn't looking, her rolodex from the '80s.  Missing clothing:  that really cute dress she bought at the nice store in Chicago about 10 years ago, that soft, pretty cashmere sweater with the teeny hole no one would ever notice, those comfy slippers that keep her tootsies warm.  Potential career growth: Not much. Potential opportunity to nap, drink good coffee, and nosh:  Plenty."